


Camp Hero AU

by Prehensilizing



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Angst, Campfire talks, David Adopts Max (Camp Camp), David Adopts Shouta Too, David/Aizawa, David/Eraserhead, David/Shouta, Eraserhead has a quirk but can't prove it, Eventual David/Shouta, M/M, Other, Quirkless David, Quirkless Max, dadvid, quirkless au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-02-27 12:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18739039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prehensilizing/pseuds/Prehensilizing
Summary: Camp is over, and Max's parents haven't arrived. Meanwhile, Aizawa Shouta stumbles into a new family....(All-For-One absorbs Kurogiri's quirk too hard and portals Eraserhead all the way to Lake Lilac)





	1. Chapter 1

 

* * *

 

 

            “Aizawa.”

            “Eezwah.”

            “ _Aizawa.”_

            “Azeewa?”

            “That’s worse. Aizawa. Ah-ee-zah-wah.”

            “Ayeezawah!” David’s eyes are bright with enthusiasm.

            “...close enough,” Aizawa sighs in resignation. He rolls his neck from side to side.

            Max can barely breathe. He cackles. David is so, so utterly _bad_ at this. And yet, he’s so earnest. So innocent and sincere. It’s like watching the Three Stooges, like having his own private comedy theatre.

            “I want to get it right!” David protests. “Your name is important. Aisahwa.”

            The raven-haired man meets his gaze, shrugs. It’s not like he’s _trying_ to be racist. His eyelids close slowly, like they aren’t used to blinking. Long, black hair hangs limply from his scalp. Every movement is slow, like his body is spent. He looks unspeakably tired, red-eyed and weary.

            “What’s your last name?” David pries, not giving up that easily.

            “Aizawa is my family name.”

            “What’s your first name?”

            “Shouta.”

            “Show-tah.”

            “Yes.”

            “Show-tah azeewah?”

            Despite himself, Aizawa snorts. He lifts a hand to hide a grin behind his palm.

            Max howls with laughter.

            “David,” Max gasps. “You fucking moron. It’s Aizawa.”

            “What? Come on, you’re just making this up...”

            “Actually, the boy pronounces it correctly,” Shouta says with a shrug. “It’s Aizawa.”

            “You’re never gonna live this one down, David,” Max cackles.

 

* * *

 

            “That boy,” Shouta says with a nod.

            “Max? What about him?”

            David and Shouta sit, side by side, on a wooden bench at the edge of camp. Lake Lilac glimmers serenely before them. The sunset is magnificent, accentuated by the scent of pine on the light breeze. The air is cool, but not cold. Summer is drawing to a close.

            “He is like your son. Is he not?”

            Shouta draws his legs close to his chest, wraps his arms around his knees. He stares straight ahead, not meeting David’s gaze. If he’d been looking, he would have seen David’s cheeks flush a shade of red to rival the sunset.

            “Oh... ha, well...” David scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably.

            “He cares for you deeply.”

            “Oh, I don’t know about that.” David chuckles sadly.

            “I was a teacher. Before I came to this place. I can observe his passion.”

            Aizawa speaks English reluctantly, with a heavy accent. His vocabulary is impeccable, but David nevertheless has to take a few seconds to parse through the unlikely synonyms, the odd cadence. His full attention is fixed on Shouta’s lips.

            “You were a teacher? What did you teach?”

            “High school,” Aizawa says.

            “Oh! That’s really neat! What subject?”

            “Subject?”

            “You know. Math, Social Studies. English- oh, wait-“

            “You think I would teach English?” Aizawa chuckles. “I speak Japanese.”

            “Sorry, I-“

            “It’s fine.” Aizawa smiles crookedly. His dark eyes flick sideways in amusement, briefly meeting David’s emerald ones. The scar tissue above his right cheekbone crinkles. “It is a compliment.”

            David smiles gratefully. They sit in silence for a few minutes. The sun gradually sinks over the water, silhouetting Spooky Island in the distance. Camp is quiet. The only sound is that of birds nesting for the night, the quiet lapping of water along the pebbled beach. Most of the kids returned home the previous day. Max is still here, of course – he’s probably in his tent – but camp is eerily quiet. Another season gone. A heavy sigh escapes David’s lips. 

            “His parents don’t care about him,” David whispers. “Max, I mean.”

            “So he looks to you for guidance.”

            “I’m no substitute for a father.” David shakes his head, a little sadly. “I’m just doing my job as a camp counselor.“

            “Perhaps you mean more to him than you think.”

            “Well, I don’t know about that-“

            “You are humble. But you cannot deny from the boy’s body language that he is more comfortable when you are nearby.”

            “What?”

            “When I met him, he was aggressive and combative. Around you, he is still harsh. And yet, he is fiercely loyal. Perhaps even drawn to protect you?”

            David blinks. Aizawa is observant.

            “You got all that from watching him for just a few days?”

            “It is easy to see if you know what to look for. You are his hero.”

            For the briefest of moments, so fleeting that David almost doesn’t catch it, Aizawa looks hurt – almost in great pain. His voice breaks on the word ‘hero.’ He blinks forcefully, and his countenance returns to its usual neutral state. David wonders.

            “Maybe this is rude,” David hazards. “I’m sorry, but- did you lose someone close to you? Or did something happen? I mean. You just seem so...”

            “Sad?”

            “Well – yes.”

            Aizawa shakes his head slowly.

            “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

 

* * *

 

 

            David catches Aizawa staring. A lot.

            His eyes are permanently underlined by dark circles, dry and red. It’s almost like if he stares hard enough, he’ll be able to zap something with laser vision. Like he’ll be able to move rocks with his mind, or bend a spoon. David doesn’t comment on it, but he worries.

            “Hey!” he says with a bright smile, trying to distract Aizawa, to bring him out of his trance. “Want to help me and Max clean up camp?”

            “Of course, David-san,” Aizawa agrees mildly.

            “Great! We just need to make sure all the tents are properly stored for the winter. Are you okay lifting heavy gear?”

            He nods, and they get to work. The mood is somber. They struggle to lift tent pegs from earth that has set and dried after too many rainstorms. Aizawa makes quick work of the ropes, expertly untying knot after knot. One by one, the tents fall. David chatters nonsense in a friendly way until the autumn sun bakes his skin to a crisp, and then they work in silence. Max is quiet, resigned.

            David has offered to take Max home with him. The boy’s parents have really, truly abandoned him. Max has nowhere else to turn. Aizawa watches them work – the ragdoll misfit and the orphan. He wonders how the redhead will raise a child on his own. David can’t be more than what, twenty-five?

            Aizawa hopes things work out for them.

           

* * *

 

 

            “Do you have somewhere to go?”

            The tents have come down, and night is falling. Aizawa glances at David, then returns his gaze to the crackling campfire. The smoky light reflects in his dark eyes, masking the veins, highlighting his scar. He sets his mouth in a neutral line.

            “No.”

            Plain and simple. He can’t tell a lie, even to a stranger.  

            “Shouta...”

            Aizawa blinks. It’s strange to hear his name, such an intimate word, on this young man’s lips. Of course it’s only culture shock – David is American; names mean something completely different to him – but Aizawa imagines he hears something more in the camp counselor’s tone. Amazing, he thinks, how much feeling a person can inject into a name. Even without suffixes. Even without honorifics.

            “I will find a way back to Japan,” he says, and means it.

            “Are you sure? I’m just concerned...” David trails off, hesitating.

            David thinks he’s crazy.

            Aizawa can’t blame him. After the fight with Kurogiri and All-For-One, heroes had been scattered to all ends of the universe via portal. Like so much confetti down a drain. It was likely he would never see his students again. He’d never see All Might again. His whole life, his home, erased in an instant. And Aizawa...

            ...Aizawa wound up here. He should count himself lucky. Lake Lilac is a beautiful place. David and Max are kind people. Physically, he is out of danger. He’s homeless, of course, but that’s the least of his problems. All things considered, it’s about the best outcome he could hope for. And yet...

            “You’re concerned that I am a lunatic and I’ll die, homeless and hungry, searching for a place that only exists within my mind.” Aizawa smirks.

            “I don’t think you’re a lunatic,” David murmurs. He opens and closes his hands. Then, softly: “I think you’re really smart, Shouta.”

            “Get a room,” Max deadpans from across the fire. He pokes the embers with a long stick.

            “Would you like another s’more, Max?” David asks.

            “Is that even a question?”

            Max jogs around the firepit, snatches the entire bag of marshmallows from David’s grasp before the older man even has the chance to hesitate. Purely out of reflex, Aizawa catches the boy by his hood, lightning fast, holding him firmly in place with one hand. Max squirms, eyes wide. He isn’t used to people being faster than him, and for a second, he doesn’t know what to say.

            “ _One_ more s’more,” David warns. He retrieves the bag.

            Aizawa releases Max’s hood. Max stumbles forward, a single marshmallow locked tight in his fist. He whips around, facing Aizawa with new eyes.

            “Damn, what are you, some kind of black belt?”

            “Yes.” Aizawa answers simply. Confidently.

            “Well, fuck me sideways.”

            “ _Language,_ Max.”

            “Did you see that?” the boy protests. “Hey man, can you like, I dunno, break bricks with your bare hands? Wax on, wax off, whatever?”

            “Yes.”

            “David.” Max clears his throat.

            “I told you,” Aizawa murmurs, closing his eyes. He’s quiet for a long time. When he opens them again, the fire reflects back, bright red pinpoints flickering where his pupils should be. A breeze causes his black hair to stand on end.

            “Uh, David. I don’t... I don’t think this guy is kidding.”

            Aizawa’s voice is soft.

            “I was a hero.”

 

* * *

 

            David lives four hours from camp. Aizawa knows this because Max thoughtfully tells them how long it’s been every five minutes.

            “Come _on,_ ” Max moans from the backseat. The car – the ‘campmobile’ – is stuffy and hot. The air conditioner, Aizawa suspects, has not functioned in years. The windows are terminally stuck in their housing. “It’s been three and a half _hours,_ David. How much farther-“

            “Have you tried looking out the window?”

            “Only for the last half a day.”

            “How about a song, Max?”

            “ _No._ ”

            “Ohhhh-“ David sings.

            “ _Why._ ”

            “Come on, Shouta, sing with me!”

            “I am not a singer,” Aizawa counters with a light shake of his head. It’s the first thing he’s said in an hour.

            “ _Shou-_ ta,” David pouts. “Please?”

            A thrill courses through Aizawa’s veins every time David says his first name. He mispronounces it every time. The first syllable rhymes with ‘how’ rather than ‘show.’ It almost sounds like ‘chowder,’ if you airdropped it into northern England and left out the ‘r’. And yet - it’s sweet, in a way that he can’t quite put his finger on.

            _‘Come with us,’_ David’s voice plays, over and over, in his memory. Warm. Friendly. _‘Come with us. You can stay with me and Max.’_

            “You would not like my singing voice.” Aizawa turns his face to the glass, hiding his expression. David has opened his home to him, invited him on a four-hour drive. He doesn’t deserve such compassion, not from total strangers. His eyes, usually dry, are suddenly quite moist.

            “Everyone can sing!” David asserts with a beaming grin. “It’s easy. Just repeat after me: there’s a place I know that’s tucked away...”

            “Ugggghhhh,” Max groans. “I’d rather hear more about Aizawa’s superpower.”

            “Oh. Um, I’m not sure if that’s the best optio-“ David tries.

            “I mean, what kind of stupid superpower is that, anyway?” Max asks, forcefully reaching over his seat to tap Aizawa on the shoulder. David sighs. “ _Eraserhead?_ A superpower to erase other peoples’ superpowers? Sounds like a villain to me.”  

            “I could never be a villain.” Aizawa shakes his head.

            “Isn’t ‘Eraserhead’ a movie?”

            “Sorry, Shouta, he’s just cranky-“

            “I hope not,” Aizawa replies, unfazed. His voice is sour. “I hate being on television.”

            “You’ve been on TV?!”

            “It really is not as glamorous as you suppose. The media employ bias in their reporting. They like to take quotes out of context. It’s how politicians communicate with the public. You’re correct about my quirk, Max – it does _sound_ like the sort of power a villain wields. For heroes like me, news media can be devastating.”

            “Hey, this guy is all right,” Max chuckles. “You picked a good one, David. Knows his shit.”

            “Language, Max,” David sighs, hands tightening a fraction around the steering wheel. His lips are drawn into a line. He doesn’t try to sing again for the remainder of the drive.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Shouta...” David says that night, just before bed.

            “Yes, David-san?”

            Aizawa sits upon a simple bed, a few blankets folded onto the sofa. His pajamas are David’s – an old Camp Campbell shirt, slightly too small for his muscular frame, and a pair of faded grey sweatpants.

            “Look, I’d... I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring up the _hero_ thing with Max again. He’s just gone through a lot – not that you haven’t, too, but – well, he’s young.”

            Aizawa regards him with dark pupils. He nods once, to show he’s heard, but doesn’t respond. In David and Max’s world, no one has a quirk. It’s scientifically impossible for Aizawa to prove the truth of his words. Even in his own world, his is the only quirk that relies on the quirks of others to mean something – to exist in the first place. All his possessions in this new world are the strength of his body, and the kindness of strangers.

            He has no quirk here. He has no power.

            “Thanks. I... sorry. I know it’s... well,” David says, bashful. He stands, suddenly, and begins to leave the room. “I hope you have a good night, Shouta. Sleep well.”

            Just as David touches the door handle, Aizawa responds:

            “The fact that I cannot prove my quirk to you does not make it less real to me.”

            David exhales, inclining his head. He pauses on the threshold.

            “I... hope you get some rest.”

            David does not look back. The door clicks shut behind him.

            “I was a hero,” Aizawa whispers to himself. 


	2. Chapter 2

            Aizawa runs six and a half miles every morning. It’s a ritual for him, born from long years of practice. David’s neighborhood is a small cul-de-sac of humble homes, which Aizawa takes his time to explore. Bland architecture and carefully curated lawns are illuminated by the glow of early-morning streetlamps as his feet clap along the perfectly manicured sidewalk. His lungs burn. He pushes himself for speed, and by the time he reenters the front door, the sun is barely rising.

            “Gooooood morning, team!” David greets him, the scent of bacon and eggs hot on his tail. Aizawa blinks, breathing hard from his run. It’s Sunday. He didn’t expect anyone else to be up so early.

            “Fuck off, David,” Max groans into the kitchen table, still in his pajamas. “I need coffee.”

            “Will you join us for breakfast, Shouta?” David asks, courteously.

            Aizawa stares, blank-faced. After a few seconds, he responds, “Thank you.”

            “Great! Pull up a chair!”

            Aizawa does so.

            “Your neighborhood is lovely,” Shouta remarks absently. He’s not one for social niceties, but it would be rude to say nothing. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. He needs to get back into shape.

            “Thanks, Shouta!” David beams like he’s been given a priceless gift. His unguarded cheerfulness catches Shouta off guard. David slides a plateful of scrambled eggs under his nose. “Dig in!”

            “It’s... show-tah, like... show,” Aizawa says, staring at his plate. “Not shout-ah.”

            “Sorry, Aizawa,” Max says, rolling his eyes. “David’s a moron.”

            “Hey!” David responds, lamely. “I’m... just not used to names that-”

            “Want some coffee?” Max interjects smoothly, before David can be _more_ racist.

            Max hops up, rummages through a lower cabinet, and offers Shouta a mug. It’s easy to see who’s really in charge. Still, Aizawa defers to David as the elder of the two, glancing toward him for approval before accepting the mug from the ten-year-old. David shrugs, granting tenuous permission. Max thrusts the mug into Shouta’s hands.

 

* * *

 

            “Thank you,” Aizawa tells Max after breakfast. David is busy cleaning, the sound of running water and dishes clinking drifts through the kitchen door, and he and Max are alone. “For the coffee.”

            “Don’t sweat it,” Max replies with a shrug, staring hard at the table. He’s quieter than usual. His breakfast, a carefully-crafted smiling face of bacon, sits cold and untouched in front of him.

            “How are you?” Aizawa probes. His eyes are hard, calculating.

            “Fine.” Max retreats into his hoodie, turtle-like.

            “Really?”

            Max shrugs.

            “You miss your parents,” Aizawa says. It’s not a question.

            Max shrugs again, not denying it.

            “It’s better this way,” the ten-year-old says, like he’s trying to convince himself. He searches for the right words. “David is...”

            “He loves you,” Aizawa confirms.

            “I dunno. I guess.” Max fidgets with his hands.

            “You don’t think so?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Hm.”

  

* * *

 

             “Do you have kids?” David asks, apropos of nothing. His expression isn’t accusatory, just blunt and straightforward. Curious.

            Aizawa blinks. Are all Americans this forthright? A memory, one of All Might’s smiling face, all pronounced cheekbones and impossibly white teeth, crosses his mind. David smiles like that, he realizes. Brazen. David holds nothing back, showing his entire personality with every grin. Every emotion is laid bare for the world to see. It’s... weirdly intimate. Shouta feels like he’s been thrust into a romantic relationship. Taking a long sip of his tea, he shakes his head.

            “Just my students.”

            “Do you want kids?”

            “I have all the kids I need.”

            David laughs. Again, Shouta notes the similarity in mannerisms.

            “I have a friend...” he starts, then hesitates. Why is he bringing this up? What good will it do? David doesn’t even know who All Might is. Stupid, Shouta. Stupid stupid. Never start a sentence you can’t finish.

            “Yes?” David encourages.

            “Nevermind,” Shouta dismisses. “It is unimportant.”

            “A friend from...” David bites his lip. Aizawa can sense his unease. “...from Japan?”

            Shouta huffs a bitter laugh. “Are you really so unsure I am Japanese?”

            “Well, no, I just-“

            “Do I _look_ American?” He gestures at his own face, knowing David sees his upturned eyes, his raven-black hair and porcelain skin. He is very obviously foreign.

            All Might, he thinks idly to himself. All Might looks American. Present Mic, his best friend, looks American. A tidal wave of homesickness hits Shouta, all at once and without warning. He _misses_ Mic. He misses having someone to talk to who really understands him. Gods help him, he even misses All Might. He never thought the day would come when he’d yearn for the company of those obnoxious, yellow-haired American clowns. Funny how the things he misses most about Japan aren’t Japanese at all. He inhales sharply, turning away.

            David looks American.

            “Shouta?” David asks, all freckles and pale, pale skin. “Did... did I say something?”

            “I don’t know, did you?” Shouta pulls out his best sarcastic teacher voice. Abruptly, he stands, the legs of his chair scraping the linoleum kitchen floor. “Thank you for the coffee. I must shower.”

            “Um... okay.” David sounds lost. “Thanks for joining us for breakfast, Shouta.”

            “Of course,” he mumbles, decades of politeness hard to overcome. He bows at the door, a small, stiff incline of his neck. “Thank you.”

            It isn’t until he’s already in the next room that he realizes-

            -David pronounced his name correctly.


End file.
